


by the lakeside

by military_bluebells



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Episode: s01e10 Points, First Kiss, Fist Fights, Happy VE Day!, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/military_bluebells/pseuds/military_bluebells
Summary: “Fuck.” Joe says, standing up from the log. If Webster wants to avoid him, he’s fucking welcome to. Joe kicks the log, turning back to the path. “Fuck,” he repeats, rubbing a hand through his hair. He turns to see Web floating on his back about fifteen feet out into the lake.It ain’t far.
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	by the lakeside

**Author's Note:**

> TW: brief mention of the Holocaust

Joe lights his cigarette and takes a drag, letting the smoke escape from his mouth slowly as he looks out across the lake. The sun's blinding where it reflects off the clear water, bluer than even the San Francisco bay. It’s hard to believe a place this beautiful exists after the biting cold of Bastogne and Landsburg. Bile rises in his throat and Joe sucks in a shaky breath, almost feeling the weight of his lost brothers and sisters on his shoulders. He snorts to himself, taking another drag: he sounds like Webster. 

He focuses back on the lake, grinning as he watches the rest of second platoon splash each other in the shallows; Malarkey, Babe, McClung, and Ramirez ganging up on Chuck, with Popeye sitting on the bank, laughing. The only figure missing is Webster, not that he’d join in. 

Fucking Webster, who jumped out of the jeep like it was on fire, not looking at him or Skinny as he fled. Joe wants to be pissed at him for the shit in the mountains, wants to call him a coward for not shooting the Nazi bastard, for not coming back for four fucking months, but now it just leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He hasn’t seen Web since and his smoke shakes between his fingers. He’s fine, the war’s over. 

_The war’s over anybody would run._

He flicks the ash into the grass and takes another drag, holding it as long as he dares. He blows the smoke out suddenly when he spots Christenson walking down the path towards him. 

“Hey Pat,” Joe calls, “you seen Web?” 

Pat shrugs, “I think he went swimming.” 

“Oh yeah, that's a fat load'a help.” Joe calls after him. Pat just shakes his head and carries on his way. Joe huffs, stubbing his smoke out into the grass. 

He makes his way down to the water’s edge, grinning as Tab runs in to defend Chuck from Babe, taking a face full of water for his trouble. As he walks away from the guys, the trees thicken, blocking out the bright sunlight. The mountains on the far side rises right out of the water, with white and grey faces. It’s like something out of a painting, like the ones Web would yack about on the trucks. 

He finds a fallen tree trunk on the bank, with a pile of folded clothes and a pair of jump boots on it. He sits next to the piles and checks the name. _Webster_. Joe gets comfy, fiddling with his lighter as he looks across the water. 

There’s no sign of Web on the surface, but Joe watches a dark shadow move through the water. Eventually a head breaches the surface and then Web’s rising out of the water, stretching on and on until he’s exposed to the waistband of his PT shorts. The trees don’t extend that far out, so Web's washed in sunlight, glowing as he runs a hand through his hair. While the sun does nothing to Joe’s pasty white skin except burn it, Web’s already building up a warm tan. He’s grinning to himself, looking around like he can’t believe he’s here. 

Joe freezes when Web’s eyes land on him and his grin disappears. They stare at each other. He expected Web to come in and rant at him again, his eyes more piercing with anger behind them, had looked forward to a nice shouting match. 

Instead, Web turns and dives back into the water, disappearing from sight for longer than Joe could, before surfacing, swimming away from him. 

“Fuck.” Joe says, standing up from the log. If Webster wants to avoid him, he’s fucking welcome to. Joe kicks the log, turning back to the path. “Fuck,” he repeats, rubbing a hand through his hair. He turns to see Web floating on his back about fifteen feet out into the lake. 

It ain’t far. He yanks his jacket off then his shirt, dog tags smacking against his chest. His boots take fucking forever to untie, and his belt ain’t much better, but he gets them off. He leaves his skivvies on and wades into the water. He hisses, but dives in anyway: nothing will be as cold as Bastogne, not that Webster would know. He reaches him in seconds, his ma’d made sure he could swim like a fish. 

Web hears him though, tipping upright and looking at him warily. It ain't deep enough that Joe’s over his head but he’s up to his shoulders. 

“Ya wanna avoid me Web, ya better try a little harder.” 

Web sighs, looking to the side, “Just leave it Joe.” 

“Fuck you, just cus’a ya little tantrum in the mountains-” 

“It was a man’s life!” Web interrupts, eyes so blue with rage. 

“He was a Nazi!” 

“You don’t know that Joe!” 

“So what, why do you care?!” Joe spits. Web clams up after that, mouth closed for once. Those plump lips are always open, begging for something between them. Joe pushes the thought away, far away because Web huffs and says, 

“Because do you think killing more people is going to help you?” 

Joe shrugs, the water rippling, “It might.” 

Web’s face twists, and Joe wants to rib him for it, tell him his face’ll stay like that if he ain’t careful, but he can’t find the words. Webster stares at him and says slowly, 

“It won’t Joe, hurting people won’t help. And if you’re wrong, if you kill the wrong person Joe, it could be you on the other end of the barrel.” 

Joe scoffs, “So the fuck what, I thought you’d like that Harvard, it’d be justice, right?” 

Web huffs, pushing himself away, “I’m not doing this Joe.” 

Joe grabs him before he can think otherwise, “Not doin’ what?” 

“Try and reason with you when all you want is a fight.” 

With that, Web pushes past him, swimming towards the shore. Joe can feel his pulse run hot and follows. The water’s up to their waists now, and Web’s wading instead of swimming. 

“Fine!” Joe shouts. Web turns towards him, his face pulled tight. “You think I wanna fight, let’s fight.” 

Joe swings and gets Webster in the stomach. He coughs, slumping forward. Joe shoves him back, “Come on Webster, what ya got?” Web just straightens and shakes his head, moving back towards the shore. Joe lashes out again, catching Web in the jaw. Still he straightens and doesn’t hit back. Joe can feel himself losing it, anger bubbling inside, but he gets up in Web’s face anyway and shouts, “Come on college boy, right here!”, gestures to his face. 

He doesn’t expect Webster to hit him, but then Webster never does what he’s expected to. His fist catches Joe right in the side of the face, and Joe stumbles on the uneven sand, taking a lung full of water as he falls under. 

He chokes for a second before he’s lifted out and thrown back. He hits the ground, coughing up the water in his lung. 

“Fuck! Joe, Joe!” Web appears in front of him, mouth wide, but Joe’s too busy hacking up his lungs to say anything. He gulps in air, the water lapping against his side. Webster’s staring at him, eyes so bright Joe can’t look at anything else. 

“Nice swing, knew ya had it in ya.” Joe says with a grin. Web chokes on a laugh, slumping against the sand. And just like that Joe’s anger fades into the background and he laughs. Web stares at him like he’s insane, eyebrows furrowed, but gives in and starts chuckling too. 

They laugh for a time and Joe flops back onto the sand, still chuckling. He moves to touch where Web hit him, but a hand closes around his wrist, stopping him. Joe looks at it, how Web’s hand can fit most of his wrist in it and then to Web, who looks almost as surprised by the move as Joe, and much closer too. 

They’re practically laying on top of each other. 

Web lets go, and Joe’s wrist feels weird, but Web’s hand presses into the sand by his head and then, well shit, then they’re kissing. Web’s lips are plump and smooth, and when Joe grabs a handful of his hair that needed a cut a week ago, he gasps, and lets Joe’s tongue between those fucking lips. 

“ _Scheisse_ ,” he mutters as they pull back. 

“ _Scheisse_ ,” Web echoes, mouth still open, lips even pinker. Joe swallows and forces a grin, “You gonna do that every time you punch me?” 

Web snorts, “No.” 

Joe grins and sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. The water covers his feet and laps at his skivvies. He looks over at Web, at the tuffs of hair on his bare chest. His PT shorts cling to him and Joe easily sees the slight bulge in them. He grins and Web shakes his head, looking a little embarrassed. Joe stands, adjusting his own clearly. Web stares and Joe grins as he walks over to where their clothes are piled. 

“ _Sie kommen_?” Joe asks. Web stares at him for a second, before scrambling to his feet. Joe grins and throws his shirt to him. 

* * *

Later, after they talk – because Webster’s can't just enjoy the moment – they sit in one of the bunk rooms playing cards. For a posh college boy, Web’s better at gin than Joe thought he’d be, which makes for a good game. 

“The hell happened to you?” Babe asks when the rest of second platoon, plus Tab, who hangs by Chuck’s shoulder, returns. Joe and Web exchange a look. The bruise on Web’s jaw ain’t too bad yet – unlike the ones on his hips – but Joe knows his eye looks like shit. 

“We had a little disagreement, but we’re sorted it out, didn’t we Davie?” Joe says, taking a card from the piles and throwing one down. The guys laugh and Joe smirks when Web glares at him. 

“Yeah, I think we did _Liebling_.” He shoots back. 

“ _Du wirst dass bereuen_.” Web says, over the table when the guys have turned their attention to something else. Joe just laughs. 

“ _Wir werden sehen_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy VE Day!


End file.
